The Trouble with Being White

Okay, I probably already pissed off a bunch of people with that innocent little five-word title. Yes, yes, you’re right, being white is generally a cakewalk. People don’t yell racial slurs at you, and you aren’t given less of a shot at job interviews, and people don’t have a whole category of jokes about you based off of untrue stereotypes. I fully concede that being white is not tough, even for me, who is almost-totally white but still has a dash of Native American.

But. We honkeys will never, ever, ever┬ábe as beautiful as the rest of the world. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Sure, there are total knockouts who happen to be white, but then you compare them with someone who’s half-Cuban and half-Chinese and you’re like, “Sorry, Casper, but they’ve got you beat.” People with non-white heritage, especially those lucky ducks with a whole melting pot of it, are just stunning.

Take my girl Signe here, who’s Swedish and African.

Now, if you’re white and reading this and thinking, “Bitch, I am beautiful,” I’m sure you are! But you’re not exotic and you’re going to age terribly if the sun has ever touched your skin. I know, I feel it too. We can go get Botox together in twenty years to maintain our gorge levels.

See, I am from a tiny little podunk farm town, and everyone is white. Then I went to college in a city, and people were less white and lots of them were annoyingly beautiful. Then I went to an even bigger city, and almost threw up because everyone was so drop-dead gorgeous I felt like a sack of pasty potatoes. Everyone in that city is a quarter Jamaican, half Indian, one-eighth African, and the rest fairy dust, from the looks of it. People who have mixed heritage seem to automatically get the most stunning parts of each ancestry and then some.

So, yes, whiteys are totally unfairly privileged, but we will never be the hottest. C’est la vie.

I’m White on Rice

It’s officially summertime for me. Which means a lot of great things, like eating watermelon and riding my bike and playing tennis and finally getting to swim in water instead of chlorine. But one the best things about summer is that I will no longer look like Casper the Friendly Tool Ghost.

I mean, I really need to spell this out for you, Internet. You’re probably thinking, “Yeah, every white person is pale in the winter, shut up.” In which case you’re kind of harshing my mellow, but it’s fine, I’ll forgive you. Anyway. That might be true, but I am paler than all of them. I practically glow in the dark. I am so white that a polar bear in a snowstorm looks Brasilian in comparison.

So, I like to be tan. And now that there is sunshine in the world again, people will stop trying to put carrots on my nose because they think I’m a snowman. What a relief!

Shoegasm

There once was a little old woman who lived in a shoe. But clearly she had a bad real estate agent, because she could’ve been living inside of these divine heels instead:

I mean, seriously. I want to wear these everywhere. I want them to run down the beach and leap into my arms. I want to put them on and jump around on bubble wrap. I want to curl up into a tiny little ball and sleep in them. I want them to pop out of a birthday cake seductively. Mostly, though, I just want them all over my feet.

I’m not sure if you People of the Internet got this, but I love these damn shoes.